Marooned
by Starzangel
Summary: Poor Jack! He's stranded on THAT island again, alone with his demons. COMPLETE
1. Part One

MAROONED

Starzangel

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Title: Marooned

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Author: Starzangel

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Disclaimer: Unfortunately for me, none of _Pirates of the Caribbean_ is mine. :o( I only borrowed the concept and characters to have fun (but gain no profit) writing this story, which _is_ mine.

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Archive: If you're not FanFiction.Net, then please ask first via submitting a review (leave your email address & I'll get back to you – and most probably say "Yes!").

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Pirates of the Caribbean

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Marooned

By

Starzangel

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Part One

Lightning illuminated the bedraggled figure shivering violently and continuously, as he dragged one squelching boot after the other across the dark sand. His sodden clothes pulled down on him like lead and an old and battered brown-leather hat dripped from the hand that clutched it. Threads of his long, black hair stuck to his face, which had sticky blood streaked down the right side from an oozing gash on his forehead. A crash of thunder brought tears of pain to the man's bloodshot eyes.

He stumbled over what remained of a burnt wooden barrel and flung out a hand to catch hold of a nearby palm tree. However, the blackened wood broke under his fingers, and he fell to the ground with soft thud.

Groaning, the man dragged himself into a sitting position against a charred crate. Brown, kohl-lined eyes stared out at the churning black ocean beneath the fiercely warring night sky. There wasn't a ship in sight on the agitated waves.

"I hate this flamin' island!" Captain Jack Sparrow muttered, bitterly.

He rammed his hat onto his head, winced and staggered to his feet with the palm of one hand pressed against his throbbing forehead and his other arm waving wildly.

Jack made it into a thick patch of unburned trees before falling to his knees, exhausted. His legs bent under him, he hunched over with his head hung low and hands braced against the sand each side of him. It felt as though a hammer was repeatedly hitting the inside of his head and, any second now, his skull would shatter. Black dots danced in front of Jack's eyes, threatening to swarm and push him from consciousness.

An extraordinarily loud roar emanated from the heavens, which made him start and snap back to full wakefulness.

He coughed, salt water rising to his throat. Gagging and choking led to him retching and emptying his stomach. Groaning again, Jack lay back and stared blearily up at the rolling and crashing dark clouds though the palm leaves. Large raindrops fell onto his upturned face. The cold air offered no warmth and he continued his convulsive shivering.

With nothing better to do, Jack's thoughts miserably drifted back to how he'd come to be marooned on this island _again_, for the _third_ time…

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Captain Jack Sparrow clung to the wheel of the Black Pearl_, desperately trying to keep her upright as the aggressive sea tossed her about. Rain lashed down onto the deck without mercy and high waves crashed over the ship's sides._

"Bring down the tops'ls!" Captain Jack Sparrow shouted over the deafening booms from the sky and assaulting water.

Gibbs repeated his order, as the crew tried to carry it out. Eventually, the topsails were pulled down, not that it made much difference – Jack still couldn't gain full control of his struggling ship. The storm was worsening and Jack knew they were way off course even before Anamaria came down from the crow's nest to tell him. With narrowed eyes, he stared out across the stormy sea. As if it were a mirage, palm trees atop a sandy beach appeared through the rain. The island was horribly familiar…very familiar, in a bad, bad way…

"Tell me that's not…oh, Hell!" Jack Sparrow cried, and yanked the wheel to pull the ship hard to port.

There was no mistaking it. This was the view he'd seen twice before while walking the Black Pearl_'s plank. That island was the same island he'd been stranded on by his mutinous crew ten years ago and again with Elizabeth Swann little more than a month ago. He had never _ever _wanted to see that beach again._

Almost frantically, Captain Jack Sparrow fought to pull the ship away from that blasted place, his thick hair and the ends of his red bandanna whipped back off his shoulders by the wind.

Suddenly, the sea reared up over the Pearl_'s bow, paused menacingly at its full height and then came crashing onto the deck, forcing the ship's nose down. Jack was flung ungracefully against the helm, the beads in his hair knocking against the wood. His crew was in a similar state, each of them clinging to what they could. The _Black Pearl_'s bow rose back above sea level and the ship rode the waves, bucking in protest._

Jack fought with the wheel again, trying to tame his ship and find a calmer current. But it was no use. The deck tilted sharply and Jack was thrown from the helm to the deck. He slid on his back until he collided with the side of the ship and grabbed a tight hold of the rail. The Black Pearl_ regained some sense of the level, as her captain pulled himself to his feet. Jack noticed that his hat had fallen and was being swept away from him. He made a quick grab for it just as the _Pearl_ slipped again, this time in the opposite direction._

Jack's fingers had just grasped the soaked leather of his hat, when he found that the deck was no longer beneath him. He was falling. All he could see under him was the thrashing dark sea. The side-rail of the Pearl_ came briefly into view. Then instantly all went black._

He didn't remember hitting the water. The next thing he knew he was laying on wet sand, coughing up half the sea from his lungs, with a terrible pain in his head and weakness in his body. He'd looked up to find himself on the one island he really didn't want to be.

At least he still, miraculously, had his hat.

The stormy sky was slowly fading in front of Captain Jack Sparrow's tired eyes, as he slipped from consciousness. Lightning flashed showing the whiteness of his face under his tan and the clouds continued their unruly rock 'n' roll, but the pirate was dead to the world.

"What would ye be doing down there, Jack?" a familiar coarse voice jeered.

Captain Jack Sparrow bolted upright to find himself face-to-face with none other than Captain Barbossa, with his monkey on his shoulder waving a particular medallion made from Aztec gold.

TBC…


	2. Part Two

AN: Thank you for all of your reviews! They're great encouragement! :o)

I was wondering, has anyone else seen the movie's extra scene after the credits? I read that there was one on the Yahoo! Movies website, so when I went to see the film (for the third time) the other day, I made my friend (Thanks, Jayne!) sit through all the _very_ long credits to see what it was. Few people ever stay until the end of the credits, so why do some movies have these extra scenes that hardly anyone sees? 

Anyway, I think I better get on with the story what with leaving you on a cliffhanger and all…

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Part Two

Jack's eyelids flew back. He thrust his sword in front of him as he shot up into a sitting position.

It wasn't until the white-silver, dizzy spots fizzled out of his vision that he realised he'd lunged at thin air. He swung his blade around trying to find his elusive adversary. Then, slowly, reality made itself known to Jack. Barbossa was dead and he was alone on this godforsaken spit of land. He'd been tricked by a nightmare like a child.

Angry and embarrassed, Captain Jack Sparrow jammed his sword back into its scabbard and pushed himself to his feet. He swayed for a few moments, then staggered back down to the beach.

The drenched pirate stared longingly out to sea, as the rain continued to pelt down in sheets. There was still no sign of the _Black Pearl_ on the rough waves. Unease churned in the bottom Jack's stomach. What if they didn't find him? Or what if they were shipwrecked by the storm? This time there was no governor's daughter to bring out a Navy search party and no rum to drink _or_ burn.

Was it possible to make a raft out of sea turtles?

Captain Jack Sparrow pulled his pistol out and looked down at it sorrowfully. He slowly ran his fingers over the raised silver pattern. One shot. Oh, the irony.

Jack's eyes narrowed determinedly and his lips slid into a grim smile. He shoved the pistol back into his belt.

He was Captain Jack Sparrow. Somehow he'd get off this island. After all, hadn't he managed to twice before?

But, Hell, he was tired, nay exhausted. Jack rubbed his chilled arms with his hands, yet failed to generate any heat. Instinctively, he trudged back towards the trees in search of shelter.

Jack found a semi-dry patch in an area where a group of palms grew close together and tall bushes offered further protection. He dragged his heavy coat off his aching shoulders and flung it in a heap to one side, then crawled amongst the branches to get to the damp but not saturated bit of sand.

Captain Jack Sparrow slumped against a tree trunk and tipped his tricorne hat over his closed eyes. The leaves around him were whipped about by the storm, but at least he was now out of the worst of it. A half-sleep crept up on him and his memory started to replay an event in his mind. The images were uncalled for and unwanted, yet he seemed unable to stop them…

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Captain Jack Sparrow climbed down the steps from the helm and walked across the deck of his ship, the Black Pearl_, towards the bow with his usual eccentric sway. As Jack passed the mainmast he heard one of his men on the far side mutter to another who was scrubbing the deck with him._

"We sacked that town without a single shot…"

This was something Captain Jack Sparrow was proud of, but it was evident from the disgusted tone to his man's words that not everyone shared his opinion. Jack hurried on, trying and failing not to let it bother him. He'd overheard too many comments like that recently and there were the resenting glances they gave him when they thought he wasn't looking.

"Cap'n."

Jack froze mid-step. Barbossa. His first mate and a big part of the cause of Captain Jack Sparrow's troubles with his crew. Jack swung around to face the elder man who stood about ten metres away from him on the cleared deck. The men had moved to the sides and stood silent and staring, sensing that something was about to go down between their captain and his first mate.

Acting as if this were a perfectly normal and pleasant occurrence, Jack raised his eyebrows questioningly and held his hands open in a bizarrely welcoming gesture. "Hmm?"

"Cap'n," Barbossa repeated, taking a stride closer to him, "why would ye be insistin' on keepin' the where'bouts of our latest pursuit secret?"

"Ah," Jack said, leaning forward slightly with his palms pressing lightly together. "And why should I want to share my secrets with ye?"

"But we be yer honest crew, Cap'n!" Barbossa cried, coming closer and turning to the men to encourage a murmur of support from them. A sly smile played on his lips. "Don't ye trust us?"

Jack frowned and ran his tongue over his top teeth. "Since when have we pirates been honest, Barbossa?"

"Ye promised that the gold would be in equal share, Cap'n. Shouldn't that mean everything is shared, includin' its where'bouts?"

There were sounds of agreement from the men.

Captain Jack Sparrow swallowed and straightened up, his hand unconsciously falling to the hilt of his sword. His eyes met Barbossa's across the deck. Everyday he had to fight to keep control of his crew with every decision he made publicly challenged by his first mate. Now, Captain Jack Sparrow found that Barbossa had succeeded in backing him into a corner.

"Very well," he said. He pulled his eyes from the cold blue eyes of his traitorous first mate and surveyed his gathered crew. "I will give you the co-ordinates of the treasure."

After passing them on loudly and clearly, Captain Jack Sparrow strode past Barbossa and swung himself down onto the ladder and went below deck. He distantly heard his first mate's triumphant voice ordering the men back to work, as he made his way through the lower decks with his trademark swagger subdued almost to non-existence.

Shutting the door to his cabin, Captain Jack Sparrow sighed wearily and dropped onto his bunk. He massaged his aching temples with both hands.

Jack could only hope that once he'd given the men each their equal share of the eight-hundred and eighty-two pieces of Aztec gold, they'd fall back into unwavering loyalty. Of course, there was the rumour that anyone who took a piece of Hernando Cortés's treasure from its chest would be cursed, but Jack wasn't a strong believer in the existence of curses and there was more than just wealth at stake here. He needed that stone chest of gold pieces or else he was going to lose the Black Pearl_._

Bitterly, he mused that it hadn't always been like this. To begin with the crew had been willing to follow their young and ingenious captain. However, Jack was a plunderer but not a murderer; he disliked slaughter that was for no purpose but the slayer's own twisted enjoyment. His crew, on the other hand, had no such qualms and even had a desire for meaningless violence. At first they'd been placated by the riches Jack delivered to them through his cunning acts of piracy. However, they had slowly become restless when their captain again and again took the cargo of a ship and left the vessel dead in the water, refusing to obliterate it as they wished. Barbossa, who wanted command of the Pearl_, had encouraged this bad feeling the crew had for their captain and Jack's power over them had waned. William Turner, or Bootstrap Bill as the crew had nicknamed him, had stayed totally loyal to him and shared his views, but it wasn't enough. Barbossa was the one with the balance of power in his hands._

Captain Jack Sparrow's last hope was Cortés's gold.

Worn out by his struggles and fears, Jack had lain back on his bed and fallen asleep. He was awoken hours later, after night had fallen, by the ship sharply changing course accompanied by excited shouts from the crew. Jack had jumped to his feet at once, flung open his cabin's door and run all the way to the top deck.

The scene he found there was of the men cheering and looking to Barbossa who stood tall and proud at the helm. Jack Sparrow stood and stared. Two of the crew noticed his arrival and roughly grabbed him by the arms.

"Hey! Let me go!" Jack cried, struggling in their strong hold as they dragged him forwards. "I'll have ye flogged!"

With difficulty they succeeded in pulling him up to the helm and then held him in front of the waiting Barbossa.

"This is mutinous!" Jack cried, glaring at the elder man.

"That's exactly what this be, Jack. A mutiny," Barbossa said, regarding him with amusement.

Jack Sparrow stopped struggling and his eyes widened with horror. His worst fear had come true. He'd lost the Black Pearl_. He realised his fatal mistake: once he'd given them the location of Isla de Muerte, they no longer needed him, _

"What shall we do with 'im, Cap'n Barbossa?" the man on Jack's left asked.

"Lock him up!" the new captain of the Black Pearl_ replied, gleefully._

By morning the ship had arrived at its new destination and Jack was brought up from the cell they'd locked him in. He was pushed onto the plank, his hands bound together with rope.

"This be yer new home, Jack. We're makin' ye governor of this here island," Captain Barbossa told him, grinning cruelly as he gestured towards the remote and desolate piece of land.

There were chuckles from the crowd. 

Suddenly, a lone but loud voice spoke up, "This isn't right."

Jack Sparrow turned carefully in his precarious position to see William Turner stepping forward. A surge of affection rushed through Jack as he watched his only friend doing something…incredibly stupid.

"I'll deal with ye later, Bootstrap," Captain Barbossa spat, glowering at Bootstrap Bill.

"It's not by the Code!" William protested, but the men dragged him back and gagged him.

Barbossa turned to Jack and his grin slid back into place.

"You don't have to do this y'know," Jack pointed out. "Ye could drop me off at a port somewhere."

The new captain of the Black Pearl_ raised his hand, which held Jack's pistol._

"One shot," he said. "Ye know what it be for should ye be needin' it, which I'm sure ye shall."

Captain Barbossa threw the pistol into the sea. "Off ye go now, Jack. Take a swim."

One of the men growled and jabbed his sword towards Jack. 

With one last glance at what he'd lost, Jack Sparrow admitted defeat and dived into the water. He found his pistol and swam to the shore of the island. As he got to the shallows, he heard the sound of a distant rifle going off and there was a splash in the water off to his right. Further little splashes followed, drawing closer to him. With fright Jack realised that they were firing at him. He raised his arms in an attempt to protect his head and fled into the distance. Then, from the safety of the vegetation, he'd watched Barbossa sail away with his ship.

Luckily, the rum-runners who kept a stash on the island had arrived three days later and he'd been able to barter passage off. Ten years later, he'd eventually been able to reclaim the _Black Pearl_ from Barbossa, but not without having to spend another night here. That second time had been with the splendid company of Elizabeth Swann. Unfortunately, the girl's heart had been set on Will, Bootstrap Bill's son, and after he'd passed out from too much rum, she'd burnt all the liquor and everything else that belonged to the long-ago-caught smugglers. Of course, their Navy rescuers had then seen the fire signal and so it had been worth it at the time.

"It must be terrible for you, Jack, trapped on this island," Elizabeth had sympathised.

It sure was now. No rum, no pleasant company, no foreseeable way off. Unless the _Pearl _made it through the storm and found him…he could only hope.

Captain Jack Sparrow groaned and shifted uncomfortably in his sheltered spot at the base of the palm tree. His wounded head was killing him. He rubbed his eyes and dragged himself to his feet. The sea was drawing him again.

He made his way to the edge of trees and looked out. The raindrops were now smaller and lighter, giving the appearance of mist.

To his surprise there was a large dark shape near the shore. He stepped forward to have a closer look and slowly his tired eyes managed to make it out. It was a ship! 

He recognised that ship…he'd sailed back to Port Royal from Isla de Muerte in one of her cells…

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His Majesty's Ship Dauntless.


	3. Part Three

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Part Three

Irrational thoughts flooded through Jack Sparrow's mind: the _Dauntless_…Port Royal…Will and Elizabeth…they were here to rescue him…he'd taught Will well…the lad had commandeered the Navy ship…

He walked out onto the beach and was halfway down the sand to the shore when he suddenly pulled up short. His eyes widened with horror. Two boats were being rowed towards the island, boats full of men in the unmistakable uniform of the British Navy.

"There he is!" one of them shouted, pointing straight at the pirate.

"Bloody 'ell..." Jack wheeled around and ran for the trees.

His waterlogged boots were hindering, making it near impossible to run on the loose ground. Without stopping, Jack reached down to tug one off and ended up with a mouthful of sand. He hurriedly pulled off his boots and scrambled back up onto his feet. Spitting out the sand and deserting his boots, he ran blindly through the wood.

The beach on the far side of the island was just coming into view, when Jack suddenly felt light-headed. He dizzily fell against a tree trunk. His forehead was screaming at him, blocking out all other sensations and sapping his strength. The bandanna around his head was wet with blood as well as water and passed it onto the hand he pressed against the pain. His chest heaved under the grubby white shirt that hung from him, sticking to his skin where it made contact.

"Find him, men! That pirate will _not_ miss another appointment with the gallows!"

Jack recognised Commodore Norrington's voice and it was enough to make the pirate captain push away from the tree and stumble on. Blackness loomed at the edge of Jack's vision, but he wasn't done in yet, not Captain Jack Sparrow. He wasn't about to give up his freedom.

Suddenly, a bright gold light burned into Jack's wide pupils. He gasped in pain, cringing and holding up his hands as a shield.

"We've got him, Commodore!"

Jack's legs buckled and he fell to his knees. With his eyes screwed up into slits, he strained to make out the figures behind the lantern. Slowly, he adapted to this sudden tremendous increase in light and he could see the commodore's face clearly when he arrived.

"Ah, excellent!" Norrington said, smiling. "_Mister _Sparrow shall elude us no more. Stevens, bind his wrists."

"No…" Jack muttered, fighting to keep consciousness. "No!" Shutting his eyes against a stab of pain that shot through his forehead, he fell backwards.

The hard impact against the sand brought him back into lucidity. With his ears ringing, he found himself looking up at the familiar star patterns above the island he'd been marooned on far too many times.

Hell, he hated this island.

The sky had tired of its battling and the grey clouds were thinning, revealing the stars Captain Jack Sparrow knew so well. Off to his left, the almost-full moon hung, casting him and his forsaken island in ghostly silver light. The only sounds Jack could hear were that of his slightly strained breathing and the calm and soothing push and pull of the tide against the close-by shore. Finding himself suddenly alone on this island no longer surprised Jack. He struggled with the vertigo that swept over him as he sat up and cradled his sore head.

His throat ached for a drink…the rum, why, oh why, was the rum gone? Damn woman. Damn British Navy. Damn island.

Jack pushed himself unsteadily up onto his knees. Dimly, he recognised the beginnings of dehydration and remembered lying on this side of the island drinking during his first stay. As far has he knew Elizabeth had only raided the underground store and hadn't searched for discarded half-drunken bottles of rum dotted around the island.

To his delight Jack found a dented tankard stuck half on its side in the sand close to the sea. He carefully picked it up and sat down on some nearby rocks. Looking longingly into the mug, he licked his lips at the sight of the dark red-brown liquid within. He breathed in the potent smell of the alcohol as he lifted it to his mouth, his throat awaiting the customary burn. The drink slipped between his lips and into his mouth towards his throat -

"'Uck!" Jack Sparrow choked and spat out the foul tasting liquid. He looked into the tankard again and saw the reality his taste-buds already knew: salt water of the Caribbean Sea. Dismayed, he threw the mug away from him.

"What's the matter, Jack? Can't ye hold yer liquor anymore?"

Jack's head snapped around to face the owner of the voice he instantly recognised. Barbossa.

"This isn't real…" Jack muttered, rubbing his head. "You're dead."

"Oh, I be alive," Barbossa told him, darkly. "Ghosts don't die, they live on in yer mind. Yer'll never be rid of me, Jack Sparrow."

"_Captain_ Jack Sparrow," Jack corrected, distractedly.

Barbossa laughed nastily.

Dreaming, he had to be dreaming. Jack rose sharply to his feet, swayed and toppled back down. The rough surface of the rock grazed his hand. Ok, so he wasn't dreaming, Jack decided as he rubbed the stinging out of his palm. Hallucinating. However, realising it didn't appear to make it stop.

Barbossa looked down at Jack with a cruel grin on his straggly-bearded face. "Ye may have the _Black Pearl_ fer now. But how long do ye reckon it'll be before yer crew realise they'd be better off without ye?"

Captain Jack Sparrow glared at his former mutinous first mate with hatred, as he growled a reply, "My crew will never betray me, _savvy?_"

"Oh, come now, Jack," Barbossa admonished, still smiling. "Ye know as well as I do, sooner or later they'll mutiny jus' like yer old crew did."

Captain Jack Sparrow turned from the phantom projected by his mind and strode away.

"They won't come fer you!" Barbossa yelled after him. "They'll leave ya to rot on this island!"

*

On the outskirts of the wood, Captain Jack Sparrow heard the Navy officers behind him in the trees and he hurried out onto the empty beach.

"Oof!" Jack found his mouth full of sand again, having just tripped over his boots. Realisation was quickly followed by confusion and fear. He'd left his boots on the beach he'd been swept up on… Hadn't he just been on the other beach on the far side of the island? How the Hell did he get here?

He couldn't hear his pursuers anymore and, in fact, he couldn't see the _Dauntless_ anywhere on the moonlit waves. Jack looked down at his trembling hands and knew he needed to do something about being so cold. He turned back into the trees and searched for fuel to make a fire. However, the storm hadn't left a single measly twig dry and he soon pronounced his search as hopeless and sank down onto the beach. Exhausted, Jack lay back.

It wasn't long before a voice rejoined him.

"Lovely island this," Barbossa said, conversationally, and sat down beside him.

"Oh, I know," Jack agreed, sarcastically. "I just can't seem to stay away."

"Shame 'bout that storm. It's made everythin' all wet, so ye can't make a fire."

"I noticed."

"Ye look cold, Jack. Some rum'll warm ye up." Barbossa offered a glass bottle to him.

Jack angrily smacked the bottle away from his face and jumped up onto his feet with his sword drawn. He pointed the blade threateningly at Barbossa's chest.

Barbossa grinned and rose swiftly to his feet, bringing up his own weapon to meet Jack's. Metal clanged and grazed against metal, emanating high-pitched sounds, as the two men fought aggressively. Barbossa was slowly backing Jack up towards the sea, as the younger but injured man tired almost at once. Yet, Captain Jack Sparrow drew strength from his anger and frustration, and refused to give an easy fight.

With a well-angled powerful sweep, Jack managed to knock Barbossa's sword out of his hand. However, weak as he was, he then stumbled badly and dropped his own sword. Barbossa seized the opportune moment, snatched up Jack's blade and plunged it into his stomach.

Déjà vu wove through Jack's mind, as he staggered back. He looked down at the hilt of the sword thrust through him in the same place as Barbossa had stabbed him once before…in the treasure cave on Isla de Muerte. Something else was worryingly similar…the lack of pain.

"Well, that's _interesting_…" Barbossa said, as if he also remembered the previous scene.

"Very interesting…" Jack mumbled, fearfully.

"Perhaps ye be cursed," Barbossa suggested, with a tone of pleasure.

Jack was already thinking the same thing as he hesitantly lifted his left arm into the moonlight. The flesh instantly disappeared and all that remained were pure white bones partly covered by his shirt. Horrified, Jack flexed the bones in his hand and listened to the crackling of his joints. He swallowed.

Barbossa merely laughed, enjoying Jack's suffering. Jack ignored him and pulled the sword out of himself, then watched gloomily as the wound quickly healed.

Captain Jack Sparrow stumbled away, his blood dripping from his sword onto the sand.

*

The sun was slowly appearing at the horizon, casting weak red-orange rays over the gentle waves of the sea and streaking pink across the lightening sky. There was still no sign of the _Black Pearl_. Jack staggered aimlessly along the beach, willing his waking-nightmare to end. He was cold, so very cold, and the pounding in his head refused to even slow down, let alone stop.

A figure wandered out of the trees ahead of Jack and paused on a grassy patch to look along the beach towards him. It was a young slender woman with long brown hair, wearing a white under-dress…and she was _very_ familiar.

"Jack?"

"Elizabeth?"

"Jack!"

"Bloody 'ell! You're here after all!" Jack cried, hurrying over to his friend.

Elizabeth Swann frowned. "What do you mean? Why are you here?"

"The storm it - "

"Jack! You're bleeding!" Elizabeth cried, aghast.

Jack followed her trembling forefinger and saw that his shirt was soaked with blood where Barbossa had stabbed him. "W-what?" He looked up at Elizabeth's blanched face. "What's going on? Why…" Movement caught Jack's eye in the gloom beyond the girl's shoulder and his expression became horror-struck. "_Look out!_"

But it was too late. Barbossa's blade dove into Elizabeth through her back. Her face contorted with surprise and pain, as Jack caught her by the shoulders. Barbossa pulled the sword free and vanished back into the darkness, leaving Jack to gently lower Elizabeth to the ground and helplessly watch her die.

Shakily, Jack Sparrow stood up and stepped back. He looked down into her blankly staring brown eyes, shock clamping his body into immobility like a vice.

"_Elizabeth!_"

Running footsteps followed the sound of Will Turner's voice, but Jack Sparrow appeared to be unable to look up.

"Oh, Elizabeth! No! _No!_" The young man came into Jack's view, as he knelt beside Elizabeth and pulled her head into his lap. "J-Jack, what happened?" Will choked out, looking up at the pirate. Suddenly, the boy's face froze and his eyes iced over. "You…You killed her!"

Jack Sparrow finally shifted his gaze and saw that Will was staring at the bloody sword he held at his side. Comprehension and alarm filled Jack's features and he backed up, as the enraged lad rose to his feet.

"_You killed Elizabeth!_"

"N-no! Ye've got it all wrong, mate," Jack protested, raising his empty hand. "It was Barbossa!"

"Barbossa's dead, Jack," Will said, his tone cold and hard, as he drew his sword.

Fearful, Jack stumbled back a few more steps. "He's not! It's my blood on the sword. He stabbed me too. Here, look!"

But Jack's shirt was its usual grimy white colour. His fingers pulled frantically at folds of the bloodless shirt. There wasn't even a slit in the cotton, and there was no sign of the sewn-up tear from where Barbossa had stabbed him on Isla de Muerte either.

"I don't understand…"

"I do! And I'm going to kill you!" Will cried, and plunged his sword towards Jack.

Jack moved just in time and brought his sword up to meet Will's. Horrified, he found himself forced to fight his friend.

"I practice three-hours a day. So that when I meet a pirate I can kill him!"

"I know…" Jack muttered, his confusion only dwarfed by his sorrow.

Behind Will a grey shape was growing larger and larger as it approached at an incredible speed. A familiar old grey donkey let out a ferocious cry, lowering its head in preparation for making contact with its target: Jack Sparrow. 

Jack cursed and, his blade abandoning Will's, he turned to run.

Seconds later, a hairy mass hit Jack squarely in the back and sent him tumbling to the ground.

*

"Lazin' around again, Jack? Yer not gonna get off this island by sunnin' yerself on the beach."

"Go ta hell, Barbossa…"

"Ain't ye heard? Hell spat me back out."

Jack Sparrow groaned and pushed his palms into the sand, in attempt to rise. His arms shook and refused to bare his weight. He rolled onto his back and raised a hand to cover his eyes, surprised to find the sky bright and pale blue. Slowly, he tried to sit up and this time managed. Beside him his sword lay in the dry white sand, its blade clean and glinting in the morning sun.

Jack's gaze shifted to the sea and his eyes widened at what they saw. His hands rose to rub his eyes, but when he lowered them the view hadn't changed. On the blue waters there was a ship. Captain Jack Sparrow knew that ship: she was the _Black Pearl_.

"I see him!" Anamaria shouted.

Gibbs followed the girl's outstretched arm and saw the sorry-looking figure swaying across the sand towards them.

"Captain!" Gibbs called, as he and Anamaria hurried up the beach towards Jack.

The pirate captain raised a weak hand in welcome. "Gibbs. Am I glad to see you, mate."

Jack grinned stupidly, and collapsed to his knees.

Concerned, Gibbs knelt down and gripped a tight hold of the woozy man's arm. Anamaria regarded her captain with scrutiny and placed a palm over his forehead.

"Christ, he's burning up!" she cried, yanking her hand back in surprise.

Captain Jack Sparrow swallowed, his eyes rolling up into his head and then settling back in focus. His bloodstained bandanna was soaked and sweat beaded on his pale face and chest.

"If I ever see this bloody island again…" Jack muttered, and promptly passed out.


	4. Epilogue

AN: Thank you so much for all of your wonderful reviews!!!

Here's the last part.

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Epilogue

Late afternoon sunlight reflected off the Caribbean Sea and streamed in through the cabin's window. However, the bed was in shadow. On the sheets lay Jack Sparrow, stripped to the waist, deathly pale and still. His bandanna had been removed and replaced by a white bandage holding a small wad of cloth over the gash on his forehead. A wooden chair was pulled up beside the bed, but the woman who had been sat there for the past eight hours and finally vacated it, leaving a bowl of water and a cloth on its seat.

Elsewhere, the _Black Pearl_'s crew worked efficiently but without their usual good cheer. Tension hung throughout the ship like a heavy fog. After cawing "Dead men tell no tales", Cotton's parrot had had the sense to realise that now wasn't quite the right time for such phrases and had fallen silent. Every man's face was emotionless, keeping the worry within, yet all heads fearfully turned to look when Mr Gibbs returned from his hourly checks on the captain's progress.

Jack hadn't regained consciousness since he'd fainted on the beach with a strong fever raging through his body. Incoherent mutterings had torrented from him, as he thrashed about deliriously. But then, late in the morning, his temperature had reached its dangerous peak and he'd fallen silent and motionless. The fever had remained constant until mid-afternoon, and then it had begun to slowly abate. However, he still hadn't shown any sign of life other than the weak rising and falling of his damp chest.

The _Black Pearl_ silently sailed on, waiting, hoping, praying.

Within the captain's cabin, the deck above creaked gently and the empty lantern on the wall squeaked softly as it swayed. The reflected golden light danced over the black wooden boards of the floor and on the wall the chipped mirror with a heavy and ornate dark frame held the image of the sick man on the bed before it. Unseen by anyone, there was a movement too small for the glass to catch; his eyelashes flickered. 

A soft groan slid through his pale lips and his eyelids slowly opened to reveal his dark-brown eyes. The eyes blinked a couple of times, then focused clearly on the ceiling.

The door creaked open and he slowly turned his head to watch the woman enter, her face lighting up when she saw that he was awake.

"Jack!" 

Anamaria set the jug of water she'd gone to fetch on the desk and went to his bedside.

"Aye…" His voice was weak and rasping. "I'm back on the _Pearl_?" he asked, reaching for her hand.

"Aye, Cap'n," Anamaria assured, squeezing his cool hand. "You really are back on the ship. We're back on our original course and we've left that island miles behind us."

Relief flooded Captain Jack Sparrow's face and he struggled to sit up, finally achieving it with Anamaria's help.

"You know…"

"What?"

"I really, really, _really_ hate that bloody island!"

~Finis~


End file.
